I'm Down
by AnonymousUser3426
Summary: Based off a tumblr prompt. France is acting out of character today. Why should England care? FrUK oneshot.


This wasn't right, not right at all. Why wasn't he flirting with the maids or blowing kisses to everyone? He just sat there, staring into space. Something was just...off about France. England glanced at him out of the corner of his eye wearily.

"Earth to Frog, we're having a meeting!" The only answer he got was a "hmm..." from the idiot. "Hello, I'm talking to you! Maybe you don't understand English, hold on. Ribbit?" Nothing. _What is he doing? Unless...he's trying to get attention! Well I refuse to acknowledge him!_ England let out a small huff and tried to concentrate on America's idiotic rambling.

"AND SO, I THINK I NEED TO PUT MORE FLAGS IN MY COUNTRY TO SHOW ALL THE **FREEDOM** I HAVE!"

"America, I think we already know how pompous you are! We don't need any reminders! Right?" France didn't glance up. "Obviously I have always been more gentlemen-like than you!" The blonde exhaled through his nose sharply. "Screw it...don't you have anything to say about that?! 'You're a stupid caterpillar-faced Brit?! Limey jerk?'" He softened. "Black sheep?"

"SO ANYWAYS-" America started shouting again, but England didn't hear him. "Wine-loving freak, isn't he being annoying?" The lack of response was becoming less annoying and more worrying. "Hey look, it's Austria. Why don't you go watch him play piano after the meeting?" Not even a twitch. The same frown stayed on his face, never wavering. England sighed softly, wondering what the hell was wrong. _Is it because I actually do care...?_

The meeting ended in chaos as usual, knives embedded in the wall, and Italy sobbing in the corner. France stood up without a sound, his head angled towards the ground pathetically. England slowed to match his pace, searching for the country under the mop of hair. "I hate you, Frog!" It had become a...tradition of some sort to say that with a grin. His lips looked like they were forming words that wouldn't come out.

"I do, too."

And England lost it. He ran out the door, ignoring the glances of confusion from the others. He ran to his car and started to drive. Where to? He wasn't entirely sure. France was a huge country (no pun intended) compared to his, by two times the amount. He realized he was on the path to the way back home with a weary look. "Stupid..."

Then England did a U-turn, mentally cursing himself the whole way to the frog's house. "What am I even doing? Why should I care?"

 _Because you love him._

He hit the brakes with an ear-piercing screech. "Who said that?!" He didn't feel the presence of his magical friends, so it had to be...

"My subconscious." Blast all, this was the last thing England needed at the moment. He continued on, trying to push the disturbing thought out of his mind. "God, where does he live again?" He stopped at the large mansion with a pearly white gate. A huge sign read 'France vit ici'.

"Yeah, this is the place." A silver Peugeot Coupe was parked neatly in the driveway. "He rides in style, I see." The Brit felt as though the dreaded trek to the door lasted forever as he pressed a finger to the doorbell. A peaceful melody rang out, calming England's nerves. He closed his eyes contentedly.

"Oui?" A voice came from the speaker next to the door, sounding a little shaky. "Qu'est-ce?" He exhaled sharply. "It's me." There was a thirty second pause. "Please leave."

"Oh, bloody hell! Open the door this instant, Bonnefoy!"

"Non!" England growled. "Fine! I'm leaving, then!"

"Good!" But he didn't leave, he stood there for a few more minutes before trying the doorknob. "Oh, it can't be that easy." The door swung open quickly. "What kind of idiot doesn't lock his own d..." When was the last time he had been in here? It was...beautiful. "And a bit excessive." He glanced at one of the smooth marble pillars in awe. "Yeah...beautiful." England looked up the spiraled staircase with a bit of trepidation, how high would it go? Would he even be in there? He took his time ascending, leaving him winded.

"Oh god...how many rooms are up here?! Doesn't he live alone?!" His ears picked up on a muffled sound. Sniffling? From the room farthest to the left? "Jackpot." He pressed his ear against it.

"Everyone...mumble mumble...me...why...mumble mumble...did I do...mumble mumble..."

"What the hell?!" England pounded on the door. "Open up, moron!" A gasp. "Non! Get out of my house!"

"No! Open the damn door and stop acting like a spoiled child!" He kicked it, grunting in pain. "Come on!"

"You silly English man, go away!"

"Oh for the love of-!" He stood up on his tiptoes, reaching the key on the top of the doorframe. He fumbled with it for a bit before successfully unlocking the door.

"I thought I said go away..." France sounded tired, no longer angry. "Why are you here?"

"Because I can be! Will you please crawl out of there so we can talk face-to-face?!" The blanket rustled, and a mop of blonde curls poked out. England moved them away and saw the tearstains. "Bloody hell, what happened to you?"

"Nothing..." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "Yeah, a lot of nothing. How about you stop lying and tell the truth?"

"The truth hurts, Angleterre. You said you hate me, correct? I hate me too." He softened at the nickname. "What do you mean you hate yourself? You're Francis freaking Bonnefoy, you think you're beautiful!"

"You are wrong, mon ami. I am not beautiful." He whispered, "no, you're very beautiful..." France looked up in shock. "What did you say?"

"Don't make me say it again. Why are you losing faith in yourself?" He bit his lip, sighing. "We're old, Angleterre. Don't give me that look, it's true. I'm not how I used to be, I don't think I ever will be again. I was cocky, self-absorbed, vain. I still am. Do you know how that feels? I know you've encountered worse than I. You had everything, you know. You practically ruled the world, owned everything. But then you lost it, lost it all. I can't even begin to imagine how you felt after that. Yet here I am, fussing over my troubles that you couldn't possibly care less about. I'm so selfish. You should...probably go." England growled deep in his throat, grasping his hand.

"Bloody hell, you fool! What makes you think I don't care?! I drove my arse all the way to your house to check on you, not ridicule you! Do you know how much it hurt ME when you said you hated yourself?! I blamed myself for saying that comment earlier! You know I don't hate you, right? Quite the opposite, actually! You've been too daft to see, haven't you? WELL FRANCIS BONNEFOY, I THINK I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU!" Both of them gasped at what he had said. "Well...that's one way to word a confession." England wiped a tear off his face. "I do apologize. If-if you still want me to leave, I'll respect your wishes." He started to stand up, but a powerful hand pulled him back down.

"Please don't leave me." He sobbed into his shirt as England rubbed his back. "Shh, love. It'll be alright." He ran his fingers through his hair soothingly. "It's just a midlife crisis." He heard an all-too-familiar chuckle from that. "Maybe it is." When France finally pulled back, he glanced at England's shirt, soaked in tears. "Oh dear."

"Eh? Oh, it's quite alright. You needed a good cry, yes? It's okay." He chuckled. "Maybe so, but it makes some of us feel weak."

"Oh France, you're anything but weak." England rocked him back and forth gently, the way he used to rock America. "We're all human, country or no country."

"I never pictured you comforting me, Angleterre," he teased, tweaking his ribs briefly. England squeaked and recoiled. "Chatouilleux?"

"Don't ruin the moment, frog! I came all this way just to see you..." France smiled a genuine smile. "So what you said earlier, about loving me?" England sputtered, a blush rising to the tips of his ears. "Well, I...suppose I fancy you...a little?" A smirk played out on his lips. "A little?"

"More than a little. Maybe...amour?" He fiddled with his hands. "I-I mean, obviously you could have any girl you'd ever want, so my chances are slim. I hate seeing you like this, so I'll just be glad you're happy if the person isn't me. You deserve it, you're beautiful. Besides, you're always talking about caterpillars growing on my face, so yeah. You're perfect, Francis Bonnefoy, and if you doubt that for even one damn moment-mmph!"

England closed his eyes, humming into the kiss happily as he twirled the blonde curls entwined in his fingers. "Well Bonnefoy," he drawled, "that was the best snog I've ever had in my life, if I do say so myself."

"Good to hear, ma chérie. I'd be lying if I said I haven't been waiting a long time to do that." England nodded in approval. "Can we do it again? If that's okay..." France laughed, a sound he had almost forgotten. "You don't have to ask, black sheep."

"Hey!" They glared at each other before laughing. "Your pouting is so cute!"

"No it's not! Y-you're a stupid-haha!" England laughed heartily as he leaned against his shoulder. "Forget it! B-but...do you feel better?" He smiled, leaning into his shoulder as well. "Very much. So...thank you, Angleterre." France's stubble tickled terribly, making him giggle. "Is this love...?" He seemed a bit hesitant to ask such a question.

"Mmm...yes, I would say it is." England smiled warmly. "I'm glad, it's a wonderful feeling, wouldn't you agree?"

"I'm the country of love, did you even need to ask?" France chuckled at his question. "No, I just wanted to make sure the feeling was mutual." The hug felt so warm, so right. "I think we both know the answer to that one."

* * *

 _Translations:_

 _France vit ici - France lives here (French)_

 _Qu'est-ce - Who is it (French)_

 _Chatouilleux - Ticklish (French)_


End file.
